The Invention of Henley Shepard
by Writer05
Summary: The story of how a little street girl became known as the Shepherd, how it became her name, why she joined the Tenth Street Reds, why she turned on them. The story of why she chose to be known as Henley Shepard, to join the Alliance, what she wanted to accomplish there. The story of Akuze, of how she died, and what became of her then.
1. Chapter 1

The preteen girl with dirty red hair and bright green eyes entered the store, an earbud connected to her omni-tool counting down from fifty. At first, she scanned the aisles, as if trying to decide what she was there for, her right hand drumming a restless beat against her left arm. Then, the count hit fifteen, and she darted down toward the canned foods. She took three cans of beans off the shelf, slipped them into the pockets of her oversized jacket… _five, four, three_ … then reached up… _two, one…_ and the shopkeeper's hand clamped down on her wrist.

"Thief!" he hissed as the count in her ear reset to fifteen minutes. "Thought you were so clever, learning my patterns and all. But I saw you too, lurking, watching. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police right now."

The girl burst into tears, tugging the cans back out of her pockets with her free hand, one at a time and replacing them on the shelf. "S-sorry," she cried. "I-I wouldn't normally, but w-w-we haven't had anything in…" She shrugged vaguely, still crying. "We're so…"

"We," the shopkeeper echoed, scowling. "How many are you?"

The girl stared up at him. "Thirteen."

His grip slackened a little. "You're the Shepherd." The Shepherd: the woman who looked after those who could not look after themselves. It was an old myth among the street kids, but occasionally, someone would actually take up the title. He'd never heard of one so young rising to the challenge before.

"Please, sir," she said earnestly. "I should have come to you directly. I-I'll _work_ for it."

No would-be thief he'd ever caught before had offered _that_. It lent more credibility to her assertion that she was the Shepherd in his eyes. At last, he released her arm. "You're here early," he said. "Likely you expected I'd still be busy with restocking. And you're right."

"I can do that," she said. He led her into the storage space, showed her where everything was, and then handcuffed her to the cart she was to be using.

"Can't be too careful," he said when she stared at the cuffs.

She laughed. "I suppose I did just try to steal from you."

 _Ten minutes…_

She got straight to work. To the shopkeeper's surprise and pleasure, she worked hard and fast, and she didn't try to pocket anything else. He'd have known; he was keeping an eye on her, but the longer he watched, the less he felt he needed to. Indeed, he was starting to consider offering her a proper job.

 _Five minutes…_

There was a loud crash from behind his store, and he nearly fell off his barstool. With a worried glance, he found the Shepherd still hard at work, though she paused to stare back at him curiously. A second crash sent him running toward the back door and out of sight. The Shepherd smiled faintly…

… and headed toward the front of the store, the cart still chained to her wrist, and full of canned foods, bread, and a big bag of rice. Pausing by the register, she triggered a program on her omni-tool. It efficiently drained the credit chits stored within, with minimal input from her. With this done, she pushed the cart ahead of her out the door, and on down the street.

 _Two minutes…_

Which gave her just enough time to get out of sight. Ducking down the nearest alley, she tugged the long, red wig from her head, revealing much shorter, dirty blonde hair, and tucked it into one of her pockets.

A perfect plan, and perfectly executed.

* * *

"Pfft, what a rank amateur," Finch sneered. He and his partner were watching as a young girl tried to steal a bit of food from a crowded store. "D'you see that, Curt?" he crowed as the shopkeeper bounded over and caught the girl's wrist. "Didn't pay attention to where the shopkeeper was. You'll never get away with tactics like that."

Curt Weisman laughed. "I think we might be watching different girls, Finch. What I just saw was brilliant."

Finch stared at him. "What?"

"Look," Curt said. "She's all but begging the shopkeeper now. And see, he's softening. Wait. I've a theory of what's happening. Wanna see if I'm right."

A moment later, the shopkeeper positioned led the girl into the shop's storage. They returned with a cartful of items, and the shopkeeper pointed where the items were meant to go. The girl smiled at him, and set to work.

Finch was not impressed. "So she works there now?"

"If I'm right," Curt answered, "she won't be there more than a few minutes. She's part of a crew. Leader, probably. She goes in, gets caught, offers to work for the things she and her group need. Scuffle breaks out in the back alley, shopkeeper goes to investigate, to break it up. Girl will take more than she could've swiped under his watchful eye, 'coz he's left her unattended."

"No one's that smart," Finch said with a scowl. "Especially not a little girl like that."

Curt smacked the back of his friend's head lightly. "Just 'coz you ain't," he laughed. "Just watch. Won't be long now."

And it wasn't. Finch's mouth dropped open a little more with each passing moment, until the girl jogged out of the store, pushing the cart ahead of her, full of food. They watched until she ducked down the alley and removed the wig. Then Curt nudged Finch.

"C'mon. Let's go introduce ourselves."

* * *

The Shepherd was starting to worry, checking the time repeatedly. Her partners in crime should have rejoined her by now, for sure. She had freed herself from the handcuffs, and was on the verge of shedding her coat, hiding it and the food, and going back to check on them when at last they appeared in the doorway of the abandoned apartment complex where she was waiting.

"Five minutes," she said with a scowl. "Hit the garbage bins, draw his attention. Keep him occupied for _five_ _minutes_. Not seven."

The taller boy – known as the Beater for his heavyweight boxer's physique, not to mention his actual boxing ability – just shrugged. "You chose that store 'coz you knew the keeper was more likely to handle his own fights. He can handle 'em good."

"He kept _us_ occupied," the shorter boy, the "Dancer" said with a grin.

The Shepherd regarded him seriously for a moment, noting the ugly bruise ringing his left eye. She nodded slowly. The shopkeeper _had_ to be good if he'd scored that hit on the kid who could dodge just about anything.

"Should keep us going for another week if we're careful. Plus credits…" She tapped the ill-fitting omni-tool around her wrist. "Maybe two weeks. The chits in his till amounted to less than I was expecting of a store that size."

"How long you figure before we've pulled this stunt on every shopkeeper in the city?" the Beater laughed.

"Oh we won't," the girl answered with a shake of her head. "They'll start to catch on before too long. We'll have to change things up."

"I am _so_ glad to hear you say that." The trio found their way blocked by a pair of young men. The one on the left, dark-haired, cruel eyes, was scowling. The other, the one who had spoken was a little shorter, lighter-haired, and his expression was… greed, perhaps? The Dancer and the Beater closed in around the Shepherd.

"Easy, boys," the dark-haired one said. "Not here to hurt you."

The other nodded. "Just want to talk." He looked at the Shepherd. "Was that your plan you all just pulled? Nice work. How old are you?"

She eyed him warily. "Twelve," she answered, hesitant.

Cruel-Eyes scoffed. "Can't have been her plan," he sneered.

She glared at him. "That's exactly the attitude that helps me get away with it. What do you want?"

"Curt, I'm telling you, this is pathetic," Cruel-Eyes said. "The rest of the Reds won't go for it."

The Reds? The Shepherd had heard of them, but they'd never crossed paths before. But she suddenly understood why these two had stopped her. She shook her head. "I've got mouths to feed. Not interested in you and yours."

"You said it yourself," Curt argued. "You can't keep up your current tactic forever. We can help you branch out."

"We've got Shepherd," Beater said. "We don't need you."

Cruel-Eyes laughed. "Shepherd? As in _the Shepherd_? Hah! And I'm King of Earth."

She frowned at him. "It's a good myth. Someone had to step up, since people like you, and people in charge don't."

"Come on, Curt," Cruel-Eyes all but whined. "We don't need this."

But Curt ignored him, dropping to one knee before the girl. "You're right," he said. "We haven't done right by you and yours. Maybe we can do something about it now."

The Shepherd took a small step back. "Friend of mine told me not to trust gangs," she said. "They offer more than they give in exchange for more than you have."

Curt chuckled. "To assets, maybe," he said. "People we use and discard. But you're better than that. You could be one of us. And gangs also take care of their own. Tell her about Hannity, Finch."

Finch scowled. "Fool got himself pinched by cops. I still say we should've left him in prison."

"But we didn't," Curt said. "He's one of us. And he is good at what he does."

With a small shake of her head, the Shepherd took another step back. "I have to think of more than just me. You may welcome me, but what of my kids?"

"Imagine how much better you'll be able to look after them if _we_ look after you," Curt replied with a grin. "You're good with that omni-tool, I heard how much you took from the job back there. But you could be much better. How long have you been scamming shopkeepers? How many mouths do you have to feed? How long before you run out of scam tactics, and then out of luck?"

"She's smarter than that," the Beater snapped. "Come on, Shepherd, we don't need them."

But the Shepherd was afraid. She'd been wondering about many of those questions already. It wasn't in her nature to turn anyone away unless they proved themselves a threat to the group. So far, she'd only dropped two kids, and she'd been doing this for two years. She was looking after a group of thirteen now, and meals were already too small. She'd confided some of these fears with the boy they called Scholar. _He'd_ scored her the omni-tool she used in this job, and he'd tried to teach her how to use it. How lucky had they been that she took to it so effortlessly? How long could she rely on luck alone?

"What kind of work do you do?" she asked slowly. "We all rip off someone. Who's your marks?"

"The super-rich," Curt answered with a grin that said he knew he had her. "People who can afford to replace anything we take without a second thought. Takes are evenly split among the crew that does the job."

The Shepherd released a weary sigh. "You're called the Tenth Street Reds. I thought that meant Red Sand."

"We started there," Curt admitted, "but we've branched out. You won't have to have anything to do with that side of the operation if you don't want to."

The Shepherd glanced at Finch, who'd gone silent the moment her omni-tool hack was mentioned. His expression was torn between disgust and admiration. Whatever his objections to her signing on were, they were significantly muted by the fact that she had some understanding of computers, coding, and codebreaking. Her companions also seemed a little more open to the idea, now that Red Sand was out of the picture. Both had Red Sand addicts for parents, and wanted nothing to do with the stuff.

"You sure this is what you want?" the Dancer asked her quietly. "I mean, it sounds good, but…"

"I won't agree to anything until I see what I'm signing on for," she said.

Curt smiled. "I wouldn't ask you to. Plus, Finch and I have to run you by our boss too. Meet me back here in an hour. Should give you time to drop off your score, and bring the rest of your kids up to speed."

The Shepherd nodded. "See you then."

* * *

"A hacker!" Finch exclaimed as soon as they were free of the kids. "Why didn't you say so before? We haven't had a decent hacker since Willie Riker. What's it been, four years since he disappeared? Damn! We can reopen the High-Rise Hit Squad."

"Grant should be pleased about that, don't you think?" Curt said, nodding. "This… Shepherd is young, untrained. But a quick study, no doubt. I think that was the first time she's used the omni-tool to grab for credits too. And you're right. She's young, so she can't have been at this long. She'll learn fast, be an excellent building block for HRHS. It's about time we got back into our most successful venture."

"What about her other kids?" Finch said. "You know Grant doesn't like loose ends that don't produce."

"The two who were with her," Curt answered, "they'll make decent muscle if they want to contribute to their little family. The rest… we'll see what comes of them."

Finch frowned. "That sounds ominous coming from you."

Curt chuckled. "Good to know I haven't lost my edge."


	2. Chapter 2

"What took you so long?" Scholar barked as the Shepherd, Beater, and Dancer stepped into the abandoned building where the little group had been squatting. "We were about to move, thought you'd been caught."

"Had a run-in with some of the Tenth Street Reds," the girl answered. "Nothing serious. Just… an offer."

Scholar frowned. "That could be serious," he said slowly. "Remember what I said last time we crossed paths with them? They're dangerous. Reds members have criminal records for anything from drug trafficking to murder."

So named because he was the first, and for a time, the only member of their group who could read, Scholar had spent several hours on the public extranet, finding out everything he could about the Reds last time the Shepherd had encountered them. She trusted his word, but…

"I know," she said. "Look them up again. See if you can find anything in public police record about Curt and Finch. They made me a kind of tempting offer. I don't want it if they're dangerous."

Scholar snorted. "They're _Reds_."

"Please," she said softly. "Scholar, I'm running out of ideas. I don't know how much longer I can…"

He nodded. "I hear you, Shep. I'll look into it. But trust me. This won't end well."

"Shepherd!" A little boy, six years old at most bounded over to her, a piece of paper in his hand. "Scholar's been teaching me _letters_!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Think I figured out _you!_ "

She took the sheet of paper, studied it for a moment. S-H-E-P-A-R-D. She laughed. "Nicely done, Kev," she said.

Scholar put his hand to his forehead. "Don't encourage bad spelling," he murmured.

At once, the kid's face fell. "I got it wrong?"

Shepherd shook her head. "You got it creative. That's just as good." With a mild glare toward Scholar, she added, "Besides which, it _is_ how to spell "shepherd" as a name. One of the ways. Saw it in the news, coupl'a Alliance war heroes named Shepard, I guess."

Scholar shrugged. "So it's your name now, _Shepard_?"

She grinned. "Why not? Sure as hell ain't using the worst excuse for a name the kids home came up with."

From a corner of the open room, a terrified wail sounded. Shepard bounded over to the corner as the little girl lying there screamed, _"Shepard! Shepard!"_

Skidding to her knees beside the girl, Shepard gathered her in her arms, whispering into her ear, "Henley, Henley, I'm here. It's just a bad dream."

The little girl's arms clamped down on Shepard's shoulders. Gently, Shepard ran her hand over Henley's hair, whispering in her ear all the while, "I'm here. You're safe."

Sobbing, the little girl spoke into Shepard's shoulder. "I dreamed you were gone too."

"That's never gonna happen," Shepard answered firmly. "Remember what I said the day I took you in? Do you? Tell me what I said, Henley."

The girl sniffed. "That my mother chose _not me…_ and you… you _chose_ me."

"That's right," Shepard said with a faint smile. "And that's what makes all the difference."

"But what if the cops take you?" Henley whimpered.

"Then Scholar will look after you until I come back," Shepard answered. "You'll never be alone again."

The girl relaxed, curled up next to Shepard, and in moments, she was asleep once more. Shepard gave her a few more minutes of contact before rising to join the others.

"Why do you call her Henley?" Beater wondered as she took a seat beside him.

"It's what she wants," Shepard answered simply.

"But it was her mother's last name," Beater argued. "And being _not_ chosen, as you put it. Seems to me, she'd want to leave it behind."

Shepard shrugged. "I never knew my parents. Wanted or not, if I knew their names, I might've taken one too." She nudged one of the food sacks with her foot. "Distribute some of this. Some of us haven't eaten in almost a day."

"Day and a half for you," Blunder said, holding out half an energy bar. She pushed it back to him.

"Had half one of those before the job," she said. "I'll be fine. Others first. Then me."

* * *

By the time Scholar returned from his fact-finding mission, the other children were fed and playing. Shepard handed him a plate and he dug into it gratefully.

"So Finch and Weisman, you said." His mouth was full, but she could understand him well enough.

"What did you find?" she asked.

"Finch has drug charges," he answered. "Weisman… assault. Checked out the rest of the known members too. Mostly drugs, but there was a thieving crew a few years ago. No word on why they stopped."

"What about what they said?" she pressed. "They take care of their own?"

Scholar hesitated. "No lie. I just… are these the kind of people we want watching our backs?"

Shepard's shoulders sagged. "I hear you," she murmured. "I'm… you taught me to read so I could hack. I'm at my limit there. And about everywhere else too. Running out of sneaky ideas. It's only a matter of time now before I slip up, get caught. And as brave a face as I'll put on for Henley…"

"I know." Scholar nodded. "We're lost without you."

"And I think soon, I'm lost without the Reds," Shepard went on. I think I'm out of options."

"Look on the bright side," Scholar said. "They promised you no Red Sand. Go talk to 'em again. This time, ask 'em if Richmond Grant will hold to their promise. Make 'em ask him right then. Wait for their answer."

Shepard nodded. "Thanks, Scholar. _I'd_ be lost without _you._ "

He grinned. "I know."

Shepard did as Scholar advised. Though Finch was annoyed, Curt patiently contacted Grant, the leader of the Reds. Having heard of Shepard's potential, Grant demanded to speak to her personally, gave his firm promise she would never have to go near the Red Sand work the Reds did. And so, tentatively, she agreed to join them.

Immediately, life changed. Grant paid for dedicated extranet access and programming classes for Shepard and put her to work at learning the ins and outs of as many security systems as they could find specifications for. When that information ran out, she employed some of her newfound hacking skill to find more. While she studied, the Reds pitched in enough money to score her and her kids a small apartment. In just over four months, they Weisman started introducing her to potential members of _her_ new High-Rise Hit Squad. She found three she liked and told Grant how they could be of use to her. He approved the list, and the Tenth Street Reds' HRHS was reborn.

Their first few jobs were rocky, as Shepard began encountering defenses within the security systems of the rich that she had not learned about. But she learned fast, typed faster, and in a few short months, Weisman told her she was one of the best hackers he'd ever known. The HRHS had become utterly undetectable, and so they remained for three years.

* * *

Shepard was uneasy. For the first time since putting her in charge of the High-Rise Hit Squad, Grant made an executive decision concerning its members, assigning his cousin Serena as one of the "grabbers," people who would enter the apartment with Shepard and take what she said was valuable. To Shepard's mind, Serena was unsuited for the work; she had an eye for treasure, it was true, but she was impatient. This impatience was never more obvious than on the first and only job Shepard took her along.

"Richie said you were good," the older girl snapped as Shepard sat cross-legged beside the door of their target.

"Cameras are off," Shepard shot back. "No one I know could kill an entire floor's cameras from the elevator. Not to mention the virus I uploaded to-"

"Oh god, I could care less," Serena groaned. "Just-" She gestured impatiently to the door. "Get me inside, why don't you?"

"Couldn't care less," Shepard muttered. Ever since Scholar had taught her the difference between the two phrases, _I could care less_ had never failed to get on Shepard's nerves.

Evidently, Serena heard her. She stared critically down at the younger girl. "You look ridiculous in that visor, by the way. What's it do?"

Shepard ignored her. There was a faint click as the door unlocked, and Serena pushed the door open with an exasperated, _"Finally!"_

"Don't touch anything," Shepard warned, scrambling to her feet and entering behind the older girl, trading a wary glance with her other grabber, a middle-aged man named Grimm who'd been with her from the start. The HRHS was smaller now than it had been a month ago. Two of them had been arrested in a barroom brawl. Given their priors unrelated to the HRHS, they were in for longer than the sentence of the brawl, which was why Grant had appointed Serena.

Cautiously, Shepard stood just inside the door, scanning for further security measures, while further inside, Serena had already discovered a decorative glass jewelry case, and was pointing at it impatiently. Even through the glass cover, Shepard could spot a handful of highly valuable items.

"This," she said shortly as Shepard moved in. "I want to look in this."

Shepard scanned the case for trackers and additional security. "Take it, then," she said at last.

"Slowpoke," Serena grumbled, popping the lid open for a moment, then snapping it shut and stuffing it carelessly into the bag slung over her shoulder.

"Careful," Shepard hissed. "That _is_ glass, you know."

But Serena ignored her, instead squealing in delight at the sight of one of the paintings on the wall in the master bedroom. "Oh, beauty, I could eat you up."

"And how do you intend to carry _that_ out?" Shepard asked skeptically. "It's almost as tall as you are."

"Like this," Serena answered sharply, yanking the painting off the wall, and tucking it under one arm. So doing, she severed the wire that connected it to the security system. Shepard closed her eyes in disgust.

"Grimm," she called, " _out!_ "

"We're not finished," Serena protested, even as Grimm bolted toward the door, grabbing a couple more items from glass displays on his way out.

"You just tripped a silent alarm," Shepard snapped, pointing to the wire dangling from the wall. "Unless you want to hang around and get your ass arrested, _we're out_."

Serena stared at the wire for a moment, then scowled at Shepard. "You said you shut off the alarms."

"And your cousin said you'd be an asset," Shepard growled. " _Let's go!_ " She stepped forward, latched onto Serena's free arm, and pulled her toward the door. "I'm only gonna tell you this once, Serena. When a piece of art is wired into the alarm system like that, it doesn't matter if you disable the alarm. The moment the painting was pulled off the system without a proper authorization code entered first, it triggers the theft alarm."

Serena laughed. "Paranoid rich people."

"Move it!" Shepard gave Serena a shove and the older girl stumbled.

"Watch it!" she hissed, turning to glower down at Shepard. "My cousin may have given you a lot of leeway with this team, but-"

"Security," Shepard cut in, nodding toward the elevator. Serena paled.

"Cover my escape," she whispered.

Shepard scowled. "Why the hell should I do that?"

The older girl offered her a feral smile. "Because my cousin will _kill_ you if you get me arrested. And that's what I'll tell him."

"I hate you," Shepard snarled, activating her omni-tool, triggering an overload in one security guard's gun. He yelped as it blew up in his face. His comrades charged toward Shepard, and she shut off the lights in the hall as Serena ran the opposite direction.

"I can't see, genius!" Serena screeched.

But true to Shepard's plan, neither could the security guards. Thanks to her "ridiculous looking visor" however, Shepard _could,_ and she took advantage of it to incapacitate her opponents before they knew what hit them. Restoring the lights, she hurried after Serena, rounding the corner just in time to see the older girl duck into the other elevator, mashing the button to close the doors.

Abruptly, the door to the stairwell banged open and no less than ten guards filed out. "Hands off that omni-tool," their leader shouted. "Hands off, or we _will_ fire."

And so, the longest string of luck Shepard had ever enjoyed was over.


	3. Chapter 3

"Most of you street kids came from somewhere. Foster system's pretty extensive, but we have nothing on you. So I'll need your name."

"Shepard."

"Spell it, please?"

"S-H-E-P-A-R-D."

"First name?"

"Just the one name."

*sigh* "Records require a first name."

"I don't have one."

"Jane, then. Date of birth?"

*muttered,* "Jane. Better than Matilda Lou Peach…" *louder* "You get how being a street kid works, right? _I don't know."_

*sigh* "Age, then."

"Fifteen, I guess. Sixteen?" *shrug*

"And you're aware of why you're here."

"I'm not stupid." *sigh* "Oh, right. Statement for your records. Breaking and entering, obstruction of justice." *laughs*

"Something funny about your crimes?"

"Just that last one. Obstruction of justice, because I won't give you my crew."

"I'm utterly perplexed, Ms. Shepard, that you would rather spend two and a half years in juvenile detention than just one."

"Guess you don't know me."

*sigh* "I guess I don't."

* * *

 _Six months later..._

Her hair was longer than he remembered, now close to brushing her shoulders. She was clean, and wearing clean, if generic clothing. Well fed, in good spirits, until she saw him on the other side of the glass. Her smile faded.

"Scholar. You shouldn't have come." As an afterthought, she added, "How is Henley?"

Scholar smiled. "That's why I came Shepard. You _need_ to know how we are. She's… coping. What you said three years ago, about me being there for her until you can come back? That's helped a lot. I keep reminding her. The nightmares don't come as often. She knows you're going to come back."

Shepard nodded. "And the rest of you?"

"Grimm told Grant the truth of what happened to you," he answered with a grin. "So Grant gave Serena's share of that last take to me. She's furious, keeps trying to get Grant to turn on Grimm, but he's having none of it. Grimm's been too loyal too long. We'll be alright for a few months. Then… I don't know. Dancer's been talking about learning some martial arts stuff from one of the Reds enforcers."

Shepard's eyes widened. "Scholar, you _can't_ let them take us all."

Scholar shook his head. "You're not out of here for another year and a half, Shep. We'll do what we can, but we'll also do what we have to."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm so, so sorry. I should have listened to you from the start."

He smiled faintly. "For what it's worth, I do think you made the right choice, joining the Reds. Take care of yourself in here, Shep. We'll see you when you're free."

* * *

 _One year later…_

Shepard thought it was funny: released early for "good behavior," and the first thing she did was give her escort the slip. They were sending her to a group home, as she was still only sixteen, but she had no intention of spending the next two years still under someone else's roof. She had a "family" of her own to get back to, and she was eager to see them again.

The streets had changed a little, and she found she'd gotten a little turned around in trying to get back to the apartment she'd shared with her kids. When at last, she found the right street, Curt Weisman was waiting, a solemn look on his face.

"Shepard," he said. "You don't want to-"

A sudden spike of fear ran through her, and she pushed him aside, running for the apartment building, even as he called after her, trying to stop her. She bounded up the steps, down the long hallway, and began pounding on the door. Curt caught up with her, caught her wrist to stop her pounding just as the door swung open. A stranger stood in the doorway.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his expression a combination of alarm and confusion. Who was this girl and why was she banging on his door?

"She… used to live here," Curt told the man, apologetic. "Sorry to bother you."

The man nodded. "I'm so sorry, my dear."

"Sorry!" she hissed, turning on Curt. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

His eyes widened. "Uh, Shepard? You're glowing."

She grabbed at the front of his shirt, and saw that he wasn't lying; bright blue swirls played about her hands and arms, but that was hardly important right now. _"Curt_ ," she snapped. "What happened?"

"Someone told the cops this apartment was a Reds safehouse," Curt explained. "SWAT teams took it from all sides, three weeks ago."

Her heart felt as though it had stopped. "S-survivors?" she whispered.

"Dancer's in the hospital. Critical condition. Grant's covering the costs. Beater, Luke, Snitch, Adam, and Eddie were all out doing other work for us. No one else, I'm sorry."

 _Scholar. Henley. Kev. Ian. Pocket. Ricky. Gone. I never should have taken the fall for Serena._ She looked up at Curt and asked quietly, "Do we know who gave that tip?"

He shook his head. "Anonymous. But we didn't have a decent hacker after you got locked up either."

She squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and said, "Then I have work to do."

Perhaps more startling than Shepard's losses was just how different those who'd survived had become. Beater, Luke, and Adam were an enforcer team, shaking down local businesses for protection money. Eddie and Snitch ran pickpocket operations, and Red Sand. When Dancer was released from the hospital, he saw Shepard once, just to tell her he was leaving. He confessed that he had a name, a family, and his parents had never been addicted to Red Sand. They were rich.

"Losing so many just made me realize I can't keep living out here 'coz I'm bored," he said. "Take care of yourself, Shepard."

To Shepard, it felt like she'd lost everyone. She withdrew, let them lead their own lives as they saw fit, and she dug into the anonymous tip. But whoever had made it covered their tracks well. Shepard was sure she could dig up the truth, but Richmond Grant was starting to get impatient to have her working again. When at last she agreed to get back in, he told her he wanted his money back from Dancer's parents.

"His name is Sean Lloyd," he said. "His parents are Donovan Lloyd and Dianna D'Ankarra-L"

But Shepard shook her head and cut him off. "No. Liar or not, he was family."

Grant scowled. "Do this, or I'll have to do it sloppy. I can't promise their survival if you force my hand."

"Welcome to the Reds," Weisman told her simply once she'd obeyed. Only Finch seemed sympathetic, but even he encouraged her to get back to her High-Rise Hit Squad, and try to put this all behind her. She resisted a bit longer, continuing to pursue the anonymous tipster that had shattered her little family, but finally Grant told her he would get her arrested again if she didn't get back to work. With no small amount of resentment, she complied, though she insisted the crew consist of only Grimm and herself. With this setup, their takes were smaller, but more carefully selected, and so worth much more. For this reason only, Grant allowed it to continue, though he kept pushing to add more people to the crew. She resisted him for two years.

Then it didn't matter anymore.

* * *

"Shep. Hey, Shep!"

Not sleeping, but lying down in one of her rare moments of downtime, Shepard opened her eyes to find Grimm and Finch standing over her, big grins on their faces. Silently, she sat up, and the two men placed a cake in her lap. It was so enormous, she was a little surprised they'd managed to hide it behind their backs. She stared at it in silence for a moment, reading what it said in bright red lettering: _Happy 18th Birthday Jane Shepard_

"I can't believe you used 'Jane'," she groaned. "Please, _God_ , anything but Jane."

"Should'a made something up when you were in juvie," Finch teased as Grimm snapped a photo of her displeased expression. The two men lifted the cake again. "C'mon, Shep, a bunch of us have gathered, but Grant thought it'd be hilarious to snapshot you alone with the cake. Turns out he was right."

She snorted. "I'd tell you to tell him he's an ass, but it'd diminish my great pleasure of doing it myself. Maybe you should snapshot _him_ when I do."

Grimm chuckled. "C'mon, girl. They're waiting on us."

Shepard rose and followed the two men and the cake into one of the larger rooms in the abandoned building they'd commandeered for the week, a former ballroom, round tables still littered here and there, dressed up in fine white tablecloths for the occasion. She spotted several familiar faces, among them, her former kids, Adam and Beater. Richmond Grant was there too, though he appeared to be conducting a business meeting at the moment of her arrival. Even Serena had turned up, sitting not far from Grant's side, looking sour for having been dragged to this celebration. Shepard couldn't have agreed more.

Nearly everyone else there seemed pleased to see her, to celebrate her life, and it wasn't long before she was actually enjoying herself. She reminisced with Beater about the 'good old days', daydreamed with Grimm about scores they had yet to bring in. As promised, she called Grant an ass to his face, to which he cheerfully called her a stubborn bitch, but a good one. It wasn't until she mocked Serena's impatience that things took a dramatically different turn.

"I'm glad we got your useless ones killed," the older girl snarled.

Blinking, Shepard noted the sudden tension in Grant's expression, the look bordering on terror from Weisman, the shock on both Grimm's and Finch's faces. Shepard's smile faded. "You… did what?"

"Serena," Grant said sharply as the girl opened her mouth again. She shut it promptly, but the damage was done.

"You… you," Shepard murmured, disbelief quickly giving way to white hot anger. Assisted by Grant's dispassionate, "We promised to attend to _your_ needs. _You_ were responsible for your kids."

"Grimm," Shepard said quietly, barely breathing. "Adam, Beater. Tell me you knew nothing of this."

As more of the party guests realized that something was wrong, it had gotten deathly quiet, and so Shepard could hear their murmured apologies clearly. They hadn't known, if they had, they'd have spoken against it, taken up the responsibility for those too young or unwilling to work for the Reds.

Shepard closed her eyes. Though good to know, their words were no comfort. "Leave. Now," she ordered.

"Shepard, don't do anything stupid," Grant said calmly, tugging his pistol from his belt and placing it in view on the table before him.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, glaring down at him. "You've cornered that market," she answered sharply. Two years earlier, quite by accident, she'd discovered her biotic power. In the years since, she'd worked hard to understand it. Though she still had not been fitted with an amp (Grant wouldn't pay for it), she could still do a little damage, albeit with considerable pain. And so, reaching out a hand toward his gun, she pulled. It slid across the table toward her. He reached for it, but she kicked the table into his chest, throwing him backward. The chair collapsed beneath him and the table fell on him as the Reds around him scattered, drawing their weapons.

"Take her down!" he choked out, struggling to push the table away. They were slow to respond; this was one of their own. It gave her a chance to run. A biotic-charged hand here, a well-placed kick there… a single, well-placed gunshot dropped a fleeing and terrified Serena. Shepard left a trail of pain along her path, until an impact to her left shoulder sent her headlong, toppling a table as she fell.

Gunfire pounded an irregular rhythm into the table, into her back. The heavy wood splintered under the assault. Amid the smell of burnt wood and choking on sawdust, Shepard was dimly aware that she was crying. There was no time for the pain, physical or emotional. She pounded at her omni-tool until the lights overhead flickered and failed. Into the darkness, Shepard moved, her visor casting the room in a dull orange glow. Reds fired blindly; Shepard returned fire with precision, still moving. She burned a Red's face with her hand. A mistake. Betrayed her position. In the darkness, twelve shots fired wildly, a Red fell to friendly fire, two shots hit Shepard; hand, and knee. Her balance lost, she fell. A table gave way beneath her, her face pressed into something soft, sickly sweet.

Blinding light, shouts. More gunfire, then none. Hands dragged roughly behind her back. Crying from the pain, radiating from hand, shoulder, knee. It was too much. She started to fade as they pulled her up.

The sweet thing. It was the cake, now just reading, "day, Shepard."

 _Happy Birthday indeed._ Then, the world faded to black.

* * *

"Lie still. Don't try to move."

Shepard barely heard the words, did not even realize she was fighting to sit up until they were spoken. The voice was calm, gentle, but firm. Still, Shepard tried, her left hand clamping down on… on what?

"Please, child, you're going to hurt yourself," the strange woman said. A hand came down on Shepard's own, and the weight of it brought an abrupt end to her struggle.

"Where am I?" she murmured, trying and failing to open her eyes.

"In a hospital- hey, easy. Easy." As Shepard fought to sit up again, the woman's hand moved to her shoulder. There was a dull pain, Shepard gasped, and her eyes flew open. A woman with kind brown eyes, dark hair, and fair skin, dressed in an Alliance military uniform smiled faintly down at her. "There, you see? That pain in your shoulder, hand, and knee. That's why you're here. You're incredibly lucky, young lady. I know marines who wouldn't have come out of that situation with so few injuries."

Slowly, memories resurfaced. A red-lit room, no, her visor allowing her to see in the darkness. Screams of fright and pain, some of them her own. For a moment, she could smell the frosting from the cake, and it nearly made her sick. Her eyes squeezed shut and she swallowed hard. In a moment, the feeling was gone, and she opened her eyes again, unhappy, but for the moment, attentive.

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

The woman smiled faintly. "I am Commander Hannah Schafer, XO of the _SSV Kilimanjaro._ "

The young Shepard's eyes widened. "Shepard?"

"In German, but yes," Hannah answered with a faint smile. She turned away from the bed, took up a datapad from the nearest chair. "As I understand it, you've been using the name yourself. Police record marks it as yours two and a half years ago, but there are references to 'the Shepherd' from _eight_ years ago, matching your description."

The girl stared in silence, her second question still unanswered. Hannah met her gaze, unwavering. Then she said, "Jane?"

Shepard tried to scowl. Instead her eyes closed. "No. Why are you here?"

Hannah set the datapad aside, pulled the chair closer to Shepard's bedside, and sat down. "I'm here to throw you a lifeline. Five days ago, local police broke up what they thought was an outburst of gang versus gang violence. Instead, they found a single girl had utterly shattered a gathering of some of the highest ranking known or suspected members of the Tenth Street Reds. Twelve dead, seven in critical condition, another eight injured. No one confirmed to be there escaped unscathed."

The numbers made Shepard's head hurt and she stayed silent, kept her eyes closed. She could hear a grin in Hannah's voice as the older woman went on. "You don't understand what you've done, do you? Shepard, you've utterly _shattered_ a major criminal organization that has been plaguing local authorities for _years_. You tied Richmond Grant to the gang, something they could never pull off. Granted, his lawyers will give them one hell of a fight, but his days of freedom are numbered. And that's on you."

"Numbered," Shepard said. "Not over."

Hannah's grin faded. "No. And that is why I'm here. The blame for everything, Grant's presence at the party, the fight, all of it, has been shifted squarely onto you. It will take time to sort the situation out, put the right people in prison, but-"

"Prison," Shepard echoed. However long it took for Grant to be exposed and convicted wouldn't matter. If put into prison to wait for that, with no gun, no omni-tool or visor, probably fitted with a biotic inhibitor, Shepard wouldn't last a week.

"There's an alternative," Hannah said. "You could join the Alliance, become a marine."

Shepard's eyes opened. "What?"

Hannah smiled patiently, repeated, "Join the Alliance."

"I heard you," Shepard murmured. "I just can't believe you're serious."

"You're a survivor, Shepard," Hannah said. "You entered into a conflict, one woman against nearly forty opponents. The Alliance can take that instinct, make it stronger, make _you_ stronger."

Shepard closed her eyes. "So I'm to be used. Again."

Hannah shook her head. "I won't lie to you. That _will_ be the Alliance's intent. They've seen what you, untrained, could do. They'll want to push you beyond whatever limits you think you have, show you what you're _really_ capable of. Following that path, they'd probably send you to fight on the frontier, the Traverse, one of the most dangerous postings a marine can get. Use you to defend the furthest colonies from some of the worst beings sentient life has to offer."

"They. What do _you_ think?"

Hannah hesitated. "I think you should let them. But not for their reasons. For your own. Given what I've heard about how this conflict happened, I imagine you have some."

 _I don't want to die_ , Shepard thought. Then she remembered her kids. _Scholar. Henley. Kev. Ian. Pocket. Ricky._ Even Dancer, not dead, but lost. She wondered how many others were like them, scattered throughout the galaxy. She pictured Grant and the Reds, the measures they took to brutally and senselessly end the life Shepard had so carefully established for them. It was a short step from that picture to the vision Hannah was painting.

"I can think of something," she said quietly.

Hannah smiled. "I thought as much." She shifted from foot to foot. "So if your name isn't 'Jane'…"

Of course. They would need a name for her official record. She'd never had a name beyond Shepard before. But as quickly as she'd made the connection that being a marine could mean saving lives, she knew: "Henley. Henley Shepard."

Hannah took a moment to enter this into her datapad. Then she took _Henley's_ hand gently in her own. "Welcome to the Alliance, Henley Shepard."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** Since I wrote this, I've created a new Shepard, and since I have a tendency to try and work everyone into the same universe, I've thrown him in here too. He's now Kira's brother, and his name has been changed from Gary to Ari to reflect this. Also, I got a question on this chapter, regarding the inclusion of Ellie Shepard, which I'll be answering in another note at the start of next chapter. Figure I'll reach more people that way. But for right here, right now, in short:_

 _This is Henley Shepard's story. Ellie, daughter of Hannah, is a supporting character here, and as such, I've changed both their last names to Schafer, and modified the previous chapter and this one to match. In another AU I've got planned, Ellie's THE Shepard, and Henley's off doing something else. But more on that_ much _later._

* * *

"Hannah, good to see you. No Sebastian today?"

Hannah Schafer smiled faintly and shook her head. "Regrettably, his shore leave was canceled last minute."

Admiral Tadius Ahern shook his head. "So no Schafer family reunion, then."

"We encouraged Ellie to spend her shore leave with friends on Elysium," Hannah answered, handing Ahern a datapad.

He took the pad without looking at it, and said, "Elysium. Nice place. Is she on this list?"

Hannah's eyes flicked to the datapad, and she shook her head. "Tadius, I don't know _what_ exactly you're recruiting for, but knowing you, I'm not sure I want my daughter involved."

Ahern chuckled. "Fair enough." He brought the pad up, for a second, stared at the first name on the list, and scowled. "Really, Han? Still pushing this girl? What is this, some sort of bias for the last name she _chose_?"

"If it were simply about her last name, why wouldn't I put forward my own daughter?" Hannah shook her head. "Henley Shepard is a powerhouse-"

"-who underperformed in basic," Ahern cut in with a growl. "I'm not inclined to disbelieve you, Hannah, but you _know_ she's been exactly _average_ since you convinced her to join the Alliance. Whatever spark she had on Earth that gave her the fire to take down the Reds, it's clearly gone out. Hell, the Sentinel training program is even expressing doubt over accepting her."

Hannah sighed. "With a push, she could be one of the greatest soldiers the Alliance has ever turned out."

Ahern snorted. "I _am_ one of the greatest soldiers they've turned out, and I'm not interested in babysitting her while she finds her feet. She's about to the end of her active service term. Now that the legal mess with the Reds is over, let her spend a couple years in reserve, and then she can figure out what the hell she wants to do with her life. Serving the Alliance doesn't seem to be it. What about this one? Kira McMillan."

Hannah put a hand to her forehead, the name alone bringing the young woman's image clearly to mind. Tall, powerfully built, deep red hair and pale blue eyes, permanently infused with both defiance and mischief. A Vanguard of no small talent, there was no denying Kira fit most of the requirements Ahern had set forth. And yet... "She gives me a headache…"

Ahern laughed. "Sounds like my kind of girl."

* * *

Kira McMillan was a handful, that was certain, but Henley didn't mind. Both born on Earth, they'd met in basic, and Henley suspected Kira's needling was the only thing that got her through. She could take the drill instructors' screaming, in one ear and out the other, but Kira had a way of getting under her skin, making her commit to doing things she didn't think she could. Which made for some amusing, if a bit distressing escapades on shore leave.

"Kira, _no_ ," was a common refrain, and always quickly answered with, "Kira, _yes_."

Which was how the pair found themselves on the rooftop of the tallest building in downtown Illyria. Henley had to admit, in spite of requiring the breaking of a couple laws, the view was worth it. The sun was setting, the city lights were coming on, and traffic on the streets far below was packed, but flowing smoothly.

"Traffic never ran this smooth when I was a kid," Henley said aloud. She and Kira sat, their feet dangling off the edge of the building. Again, Kira's idea.

Kira laughed. "Course not. Self-driving cars may be old tech, but locking vehicles in a grid system like this is an Elysium trick. Illyria specific. Streets are built for it. Would cost too much to apply elsewhere. Besides, I think Earth likes the chaos."

Henley chuckled, resting her head on Kira's shoulder. "Served me well a time or two, that's certain."

Abruptly, the door onto the roof banged open behind them. Security guards shouted for them to stand slowly and show their hands. Kira laughed and shook her head. "Always wanted an excuse to try this."

Clamping one hand behind Henley's neck, and snaking her other arm around Henley's waist, she threw them both off the roof before Henley fully realized what was happening. "What have you done?" she gasped about a quarter of the way down the building.

"Wait for it!" Kira shouted gleefully.

"Wait for _death_?" Henley screamed.

They fell. Half the building, three quarters, then Henley felt the telltale tingle of Kira's biotics firing. Instinctively, Henley fed her own strength into Kira's. Their descent slowed a little as Kira bent reality around them and, with a scream of effort, Charged at an angle toward the ground. With their combined power, Kira landed them in a very small, clear patch of sidewalk, scattering frightened pedestrians in all directions. Breathless, Kira laughed, bracing herself against her knees, while Henley dropped on all fours.

"I'm gonna be sick," she groaned.

"No time!" Kira said, still giggling as she yanked Henley back to her feet. "We've gotta get out of sight before security tells their buddies on the ground floor that we survived the impossible."

"Impossible?" Henley echoed, letting Kira pull her along.

"Well, the asari huntress I learned the Charge from said so," Kira answered with a grin. "Said I'd paint the ground with myself. Recommended _floating_ instead." She used her biotics to lift herself off her feet for a moment, a demonstration. "But you know me. Why descend like an angel when I can make an _impact?_ "

In spite of her rattled nerves, Henley laughed. "Just… leave me out of it next time?"

"Not likely," Kira answered with a grin. "Now that it's over, pretty sure I couldn't have done that without you." Laughing as Henley paled, Kira tugged on her hand again. "C'mon! The further we are from here, the better."

From then on, their adventures were comparatively tame. They ate, drank, danced with strangers (all the while, laughing at Henley's moves), even got into a genuine barroom brawl (they won, of course, and were subsequently asked never to come back). Then, having had enough excitement, Henley took over, steered them toward the hotel where they were staying. Kira entertained Henley en route by making up constellations, tracing them with her finger.

"Hey, shooting star!" Henley exclaimed partway through another of Kira's wild explanations.

They watched as it fell, and Kira murmured, "Make a wish, Lee."

Henley caught Kira's hand and squeezed. "No need. My life is perfect."

But as it fell, their entertainment shifted into concern. Its descent looked too… controlled. A moment after it disappeared behind the city's skyscrapers, there was a faint rumble beneath their feet. Her forehead creased with worry, Henley glanced at Kira. "Have we been attacked?"

Kira nodded slowly. "Alliance base is that way," she said, pointing in the direction the object had fallen. "Yes, I think we have. C'mon."

She tugged Henley's hand again, drawing her forward. But Henley pulled back. "What can we do?"

There was a fire in Kira's eyes when she answered, "We're soldiers. We'll do what we have to."

* * *

Elysium was near Batarian space; as such, they had safeguards against invasion. Alarms sounded before Kira and Henley had gone far. Pedestrians scattered into the surrounding buildings, cars were diverted to the nearest available parking structure. Still Kira stubbornly pressed on. Where she was heading, Henley couldn't be certain, until she guided them into a gun shop.

"You want to fight an orbital attack on the Alliance base with civilian-class arms?" Henley asked, even as the shopkeeper was protesting that he was closing up due to emergency.

"After all we've been through together, this is how you greet me? We're closed?" Kira asked the shopkeeper, ignoring Henley's protest. She grinned. "I heard you moved to Elysium. Had to see it for myself."

He stopped, stared, grinned. "Well, well. Thought you went on the straight and narrow."

She shrugged carelessly. "Corporal with the Alliance Marines. Doesn't mean I'm gonna rat you out, doesn't mean I don't need what you've got." She shoved Henley forward. "Sentinel-class soldier, if she could be bothered."

The man behind the counter, tall, muscular, sandy blond hair and brown eyes, glanced at Henley critically, then nodded. "Got an omni-tool she'll have a _lot_ of fun with. Bit starved for choice on armor, but I know a guy. I'll call when you leave, let him know you're coming."

Her head spinning, Henley glanced at Kira and whispered, "Who is this guy?"

Kira laughed. "Lee, remember me mentioning my worthless brother? Meet him. Ari McMillan, could'a been almost as good a Vanguard as me if he'd cared. Hell, we were even both in a bit of training for that back on Mindoir, but nooooo. _He_ had to go and start building guns. Some of them... a wee bit less than legal." She shrugged. "Ari, this is Henley Shepard."

"You said it yourself when you enlisted," Ari chuckled. "The galaxy couldn't take two crazy McMillans in the Alliance." He glanced from Kira to Henley and back, curious. "Funny, you're the second Alliance pair I've seen tonight. Schafer and Ellensburg, you know them?"

Kira snorted. "We don't all know each other, kid."

Ari rolled his eyes. "We're twins, Kir, cut the kid crap."

But Henley's eyes narrowed. "Schafer. Middle-aged woman? Dark hair and eyes? Commanding presence?"

"Dark hair and eyes, yes," Ari agreed, "And the big guy with her seemed more than happy to follow her lead. She took one look at the weapons I have on display, thanked me politely, and they both walked out." But she was young. Your age, maybe." He paused a beat. "How old are you?"

Kira punched his shoulder. "Don't be a perv."

In reply, Ari pushed Kira off her center of balance, answering dryly "That's your job."

They left Ari's shop, Henley outfitted with a new omni-tool and a heavy pistol, Kira wielding a bulky shotgun. Then, they visited his friend, the armorer and Henley balked at being handed N7 armor in her size. "I want to earn it," she said. With a shrug, Kira passed her a set of Phoenix armor. Anticipating Henley's protest at the pink stripes, Kira said, "Pink and not N7 or black and N7. Your call." And so, Henley kept her mouth shut, and resigned herself to a color she wasn't overly fond of.

Now more properly outfitted, they started scanning comm channels for other Alliance activity. Before long, they'd tapped into a frequency being used by none other than Ellie Schafer, daughter of Hannah. Kira cut in, introduced herself and Henley, and their abilities.

 _"Shepard, huh?"_ Ellie said, her tone a little amused. Henley wondered if Hannah had told Ellie about her. _"Schafer. German equivalent. Hello, then, Cousin. Alright. Where are you two?"_

Kira gave off their location and Ellie told them the situation. In just a few more minutes, the buildings in downtown Illyria would become nearly impenetrable, as thick metal panels would cover the windows and doors, and kinetic barriers would surround the city. Henley wondered about smaller cities on Elysium, but Ellie was not concerned.

 _"They have similar defenses,"_ she reassured them. Then she gave them coordinates to meet up and help her coordinate a resistance, if their defenses should fail. When they met in person, Ellie shook their hands firmly, and began issuing orders. She introduced Kira to a group of fellow Vanguards, among them, a man named Caleb Ellensburg. Looking at him, Henley had no doubt this was the _big guy_ Kira's brother had referred to. Henley herself, Ellie directed to a slim blonde with brown eyes, Katie Kensington.

"I just finished the Sentinel program," Kensington said with a friendly smile. "It's a little intense, but well worth it."

As Kensington and Henley were the only two Sentinels, Ellie filled out their team with a couple soldiers. One of them, Adam Lattimer seemed quite friendly with Kensington, and she bickered cheerfully right back at him. After their assignments were given, Ellie and a number of other snipers disappeared, no doubt looking for a good vantage point.

Henley took advantage of the moment of silence to explore her new omni-tool. Already installed were a number of combat hacking programs, most of which Henley suspected were illegal. But the Overload attack was significantly more powerful than she'd ever seen, and the VI Hacking Tool could break through much stronger firewalls than she was used to. If the enemy was using any sort of combat assistance VI, Henley could probably get them to turn on each other.

 _"Enemy forces massing at the barrier to the east,"_ Ellie said calmly. _"Kensington, Ellensburg, take your people there. It's likely they'll breach from that side."_

As they moved, Lattimer joked about Kensington being in charge, and she made fun of his specialization. "Guns, guns, guns," she said. And Lattimer looked immensely pleased, weighed down by a set of heavy armor and every weapon type Henley could imagine. She wondered where he'd gotten the armor from. Surely, he hadn't packed it with him for shore leave? When she asked, Kensington laughed.

"Yeah, he did. And the weapons."

Henley pondered what sort of person would call packing his arms and armor on shore leave, _planning for the worst._ It didn't help that he'd been _right._ Not far from the city's eastern perimeter, they met up with Ellensburg, Kira, and a handful of other Vanguards.

"Be ready, El," Ellensburg advised as they drew near the barrier. "So long as the barrier holds, we don't have to worry about air support. If this generator goes down, they'll be able to fly gunships in too."

 _"Defend the generator,"_ Ellie answered. _"I know we're short on troops, but…"_

"We'll give 'em hell," Kira said with a grin. But a moment later, peering out into the suburbs surrounding Illyria, they spotted movement. A _wave_ of troops marched toward the barrier, evidently knowing full well that they, on foot, would pass through it unharmed.

"El, there's a lot of bad guys," Ellensburg said quietly. For a moment, Ellie said nothing.

 _"We see them,"_ she said at last. _"We'll assist."_

Sure enough, as the first row of enemy troops passed through the barrier, fourteen of them dropped. The rest broke and scattered left and right, out of sight.

"And now, the hunt," Kira said, her eyes glittering in delight.

* * *

For the next several hours, they did just that. Ellie and her snipers kept moving. Every time the enemy force thought they were out of the snipers' range, several more of them fell to sniper fire. As they moved, Ellie would fall silent for brief periods of time, then come back on the comms with enemy troop movements. Squads of soldiers patrolled the major thoroughfares, holding the city's defensive infrastructure as best they could. Ellensburg, Kira, and the Vanguards split up, taking their unique brand of chaos into all corners of the city.

When Henley first caught sight of an enemy group, she fired off an Overload as quickly as she could. Kensington had done the same. As a result, the group's weapons warped and were unusable, and their shield generators exploded, tearing their armor to shreds. Lattimer and the other soldiers took advantage of their incapacity and took them down.

"Whoa," Henley murmured. Kensington clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Nice Overload," she said. "May have to grab that from you when this is over."

Henley was about to explain that it wasn't her code at work when the ground shook beneath her feet. Alarmed, she and Kensington exchanged a glance, and in that direction. As they expected and feared, it was now a flaming ruin.

"This isn't the one we were guarding," Henley murmured, falling into a defensive position as the men who'd blown the generator to pieces turned to engage. Gunships took advantage of the new gap in the defensive barrier, flying toward the generators, no doubt intent on opening up the city entirely. The two Sentinels and their soldier backup raced for the nearest generator, arriving just as a gunship circled for a better shot. A missile fired, and Henley stood, stretching to her full height, and reaching a hand out toward the missile, Overload at the ready. The moment it was in range, she fired. The missile burst spectacularly, streams of flame spreading everywhere, and Henley realized too late she'd cooked herself. There was a crackle of biotic energy, a familiar war cry, and the flames collided with a rapidly expanding biotic field. Only then, Henley realized someone's arm was slung casually over her shoulders.

"Can't let you go anywhere alone," Kira drawled, grinning down at her. Henley merely pointed to the gunship, which was circling around for another attempt. A sniper shot echoed off the buildings and the gunship burst into a flaming wreck. Kira expanded her biotic field to shield her allies, and it bounced off the field, smashed into the street, and skidded to a halt.

"Nice shot!" Kira remarked, whistling.

Kensington grinned. "That's Ellie."

"She had to see this coming, right?" Kira asked. "I mean, she's had us all in the right place, right time for _hours_ and now she misses this? I don't think so."

Lattimer nodded. "Haven't been able to reach her. Ellensburg either. I think they may be interfering with our comms."

As further proof he was right, in the next hour, they lost four more barrier generators, one of the skyscrapers was hit, and gunships and foot soldiers aplenty swarmed the streets and skies. Even Kira was looking exhausted, kept taking sips of a rather disgusting-looking red liquid whenever she got a moment. Henley recognized it as Kira's own personal energy concoction, something she insisted helped her keep her power levels high, but had never persuaded Henley to try. Just when Henley thought her own power would give out and exhaustion would win over, the enemy retreated. Kira Charged a couple more as they fled, but soon, she returned to Henley's side. Only now, Henley realized she was limping.

"You're hit," she said, slightly scolding. Kira let out a short bark of laughter.

"Look who's talking," she said, tracing the lines of battle damage in Henley's armor with one finger. When she thought about it, Henley had to admit her old shoulder injury from her fight with the Reds was aching a bit more than it usually did. Before she could comment, her omni-tool buzzed and lit up with a message:

 _[Any Alliance personnel in Illyria, report to the Capitol building immediately for debriefing. Command code: ZX1107A.]_

As soon as it came through, the drone of a number of Alliance shuttles flew overhead. Reinforcements had arrived at last.

* * *

In the end, the Alliance's reinforcements had driven off the invaders, though one and all agreed that the quick response by Ellie Schafer's resistance prevented Elysium's fall. Several Alliance Admirals made the trip to Elysium to congratulate her in person for her heroic action, and how she managed to pull a ragtag band of civilians and soldiers on shore leave, and form them into such an effective fighting force, but there was no sign of her. At last, someone remembered seeing her duck into the skyscraper that had been hit, and a rescue mission was organized to sift through the rubble. Four hours later, they found her, alive but seriously battered, weeping over the loss of her dear friend, Caleb Ellensburg, who gave his life to shield her as the skyscraper fall.

Once a doctor had treated her more serious injuries, a ceremony was held to commend the soldiers involved. A Palladium Star was awarded to Henley, Kira, Lattimer, and Kensington, along with the other soldiers who'd followed Ellie's lead. To Ellie herself, they awarded the Star of Terra, declaring her the Hero of Elysium.

In the aftermath, merely mentioning that they'd been at Elysium earned Kira and Henley free drinks, and a million questions about the Hero. Eventually, they both tired of it, and life went back to normal, more or less, for a year.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello there! It's been quite a while since I've revisited this story, and for that I'm very sorry. However, I can also say that the distance has given me a little perspective I was missing. You see, I have _four_ Shepards: Henley, Ellie, Kira, and Ari. For the purposes of this story, I'd given Ellie (and consequently Hannah) the last name 'Schafer'. Kira and Ari, the twins, are McMillans. However, the more I've gone over the Shepards in my head, the more I've realized _Henley_ should not be the future Commander/Spectre Shepard; that honor belongs to Ellie.

As a result, I'm reworking this story to reposition Henley into the role in which she belongs. But I'll let you discover that as you read. She's _still_ the only one whose name is Shepard; Ellie will remain a Schafer (though due to translation issues, she still ends up getting called Shepard, much to Henley's amusement and her own consternation, but more on that in a different story).

* * *

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Isaacson." But the young marine appeared to be pretending he'd gone suddenly deaf. Standing at his shoulder, Henley watched in passive silence as he fought with the MAKO's controls. Behind them, the rest of the squad stifled laughter.

"Gah!" he roared, throwing up his hands in defeat as a simulated MAKO on the screen in front of him careened off a cliff and plunged to nonfunctionality on three bad tires. "How does this thing even move?"

"With all the grace of an ice skating elephant," Henley answered with a grin. "I'd say I told you so, but as your superior officer, I've a feeling I can think of a better way to handle you."

His eyes widened in dismay. "I've learned my lesson, LT. Far be it from me to speak out of turn about your driving skills _ever again."_

She smirked. "Honest, but late." She rolled her shoulders, assigned him a little menial labor, and watched as the rest of the marines dispersed. When they were gone, she turned back to the young man.

"To tell you the truth, Isaacson," she said, "you're not wrong. I learned to drive on Earth, on narrow streets, at high speed. _That,_ I could do well… but it's not how to handle the MAKO, and I've never had the chance or the inclination to learn the right way." She watched him for a second. "So tell me. Why have I told you this?"

He frowned, thoughtful, then hopeful. "Because... you're _not_ going to have me cleaning the sleeper pods?"

She laughed softly. "Try again."

The kid sighed. "I'm sure there's a lesson in this, but it's not coming, LT."

Henley smiled, shook her head, and turned to leave. "We've still got a couple hours before planetfall. Clean the sleeper pods, and get back to me."

* * *

Left to herself, Henley returned her attention to what information they'd been given about where they were headed:

Akuze. Home to a handful of prefabs and a pioneer team, but all contact with the team had been lost. She reviewed the map of the little settlement, checked the list of pioneers, closed her eyes and focused, trying to remember as much as she could of what she'd read. She heard footsteps, but paid them little mind for the moment.

"Working yourself to exhaustion, LT?" The ship's XO, Commander Jonathan Walker claimed the seat across from Henley with a gentle smirk.

"No, sir," she answered with a faint smile. "I can assure you, I'm well-rested and ready to go."

He nodded to the datapad, still in her hands. "Akuze?"

She nodded. "One last check, make sure I know everything I can about what we're walking into down there. At the least, the layout will come in handy."

One of her marines rounded the corner, spotted her, and laughed. "Right where we left you. I take it by the dejected look on Isaacson's face, he didn't persuade you to lighten the load."

Adam Toombs. Good soldier, just about due a promotion. He just needed to work a bit more on his observation skills. For example, completely missing the fact that the ship's XO was sitting there too.

"Didn't try," she answered simply, glancing up at him, then turning her gaze pointedly toward Walker, and back. "Something you need, Corporal?"

He straightened at the use of his rank, his eyes flicked from her to the Commander and back. "Ah, no, ma'am. Came to see if you needed anything."

Henley considered for a moment. "Double check our weapons. Not sure what we're walking into here. Best to be prepared."

He saluted, and hurried off to do as she'd ordered. Walker watched him go, then chuckled in amusement. "Heard about Isaacson's insubordination. You handled yourself well."

With a faint smile, Henley said, "I've had a handful of exceptional examples of what a superior officer should be like, Sir." She inclined her head slightly, indicating Walker himself. To her surprise, he simply shrugged, almost indifferent to her praise.

"Can always learn something new or better," he said. "Remember that in the coming months, Lt. Shepard." He paused, glanced at their surroundings, and added, "You've been selected for ICT. I'll be sorry to see you go; you're one hell of a marine. But you're destined for greater things."

Henley froze, stared at him, wanted to ask him if that was a good idea. Was her track record really worthy of N-school? With a slight shake of her head, she put it out of her mind as best she could. "One step at a time, Sir," she managed with a weak smile. "I'll see this mission through first."

Walker chuckled. "Hell yeah, you will. Good hunting, Shepard."

* * *

As the marines boarded shuttles to descend to Akuze, Henley took Isaacson aside. His expression sobered a little, as he realized she still wanted to see if he'd figured out what lesson she was trying to teach him. "Respect authority?" he asked. "I shouldn't have challenged you. If you hadn't put me in my place, it could have put your position as our leader at risk, got the boys not to take you seriously when it counts."

Henley smiled faintly. "In a broad sense… that could be a concern." She put a hand on his shoulder. "It's simpler than that. I'm new in this job, and most of you don't know me. If I were to simply explain to the group why I'm not good at the controls of a MAKO, it'd sound like an excuse. But they know you. I can tell by how you all interact. So if _you show_ them the MAKO requires a more skilled touch, they'll get the message clearer without me needing to say a thing."

Understanding flickered in his eyes. "I got you, LT."

She smiled. "Good. Let's go."

They boarded the shuttle beside them, ready to head to the surface…

… but they'd done that hours ago. Or was it days? Between the throbbing in her head, the lancing pain in her chest and left leg, and the burning sensation across most of her body, Henley couldn't be entirely sure. The only things she really knew just now were that she'd never gotten and would never get to explain her logic to Isaacson… and Akuze was no quiet colony. It was _hell._

They'd landed well outside the colony on Henley's orders, knowing full well that if someone had captured the colony, they'd have long since found the most secure locations and bunkered down. From these spots, they could easily target inbound shuttles flying over their heads. So instead, Henley and her unit went in by foot, just after nightfall. They reached the colony without much difficulty, though a few tremors in the ground caught her attention. She didn't remember this part of Akuze being prone to seismic activity from her extensive study for the mission.

When they reached the colony, the pioneer team was missing, and all structures were powered down, the colony completely abandoned. With no obvious evidence of where the people had gone, Henley ordered the power back on, and all databases copied for later study. There was another tremor, and Henley advised her team to hurry up. They obliged, and in under three hours, they were heading back toward the extraction point. But they'd barely left the prefab structures when the source of the tremors revealed itself.

Dirt and acid flying, ground shaking. Henley was thrown against the nearest prefab, her left leg broken. Only then, she realized there were Thresher Maws, more than she could count, attacking her unit. Were there three? Were there twenty? The bitter scent of acid burned in her nose, as she staggered forward, trying to reach someone, _anyone_ , and was thrown back again; her head cracked against the corner of the prefab, and the world went black. When she awoke, acid had burned through her armor in places, her head, ribs, shoulder, and leg throbbed, and from what she could see, her team had been utterly torn apart; many of them were missing, and the ones she could see, dead.

Her teeth clenched, she pulled herself upright against the corner of the prefab. Communications in the colony had been shut off, but that was an easy enough fix. She took a step around the corner and fell with a strangled scream. _Right_ , she thought dimly, once the lance of pain eased off. Broken leg. Her armor _should have_ clamped down on it, acted as a temporary splint, but the acid damage was too great. There was another rumble from the clearing outside the colony, interrupted by a high-frequency siren. Henley clamped her hands over her ears; the clearing erupted in thrown earth and thrashing Thresher Maws in equal measure as a shuttle flew overhead, broadcasting that ungodly sound. The Threshers moved away, their chaos revealing a few more bodies. Some of them _moving_. Henley allowed herself a faint smile of relief; she hadn't lost _everyone_. But then… who would have known the Threshers were there? And how to drive them off? With a growing sense of dread, she watched as the shuttle came in for a landing on the other side of the overturned clearing.

Soldiers. Not Alliance. White armor, yellow and black accented. She'd never seen it before. Clenching her teeth against the pain in her leg, she crawled back around the corner, into the colony. She used her omni-tool to force-open the nearest prefab and crawled in. It was a home, she recognized dimly. Small thing, barely room for the kitchen, one bedroom. A dining table stood in the back of the wide open common area, and she crawled toward it.

"Movement!" one of the soldiers called. Henley locked down the door, and it slammed shut. A moment later, she heard the soldiers working on the other side. It wasn't ideal… but she'd fought injured before. With a grunt, she fell into the table, knocking it on its side. Then, with biotics, she moved the chairs to reinforce it. Finally, she turned the sofa. As a defensive barricade, none of the furniture would last long against these unknown solders' weapons; she'd have to hit them hard and fast. And so, as the door opened, she let out a scream of exertion, hit the table with her good leg. Biotic energy flared, lanced down her leg, and hit the table. The table crashed into the first soldier, took him with it.

"Hostile!" one of them shouted. He brought his rifle up, and a shot slammed into his throat. One of his allies immediately tried to do the same, and his gun exploded in his face. A third screamed as his omni-tool overheated, searing his wrist.

"Should've led with the gun," Henley said with a half grin, half grimace. She scrambled back behind the sofa, heard rifles discharged into the chair line, felt the impact as a few, then more shots began finding the sofa. Clenching her teeth, she rose to her knees, fired another shot. An enemy shot caught her shoulder, slammed her into the floor. Then, over the shredding of the couch, she heard a heavier staccato. _Shuttle guns? Are they just going to shred the whole prefab?_ Seemed like one hell of a waste to take out one person. The gunfire mixed with screams, cries of pain, shuttles flying overhead. _More than one?_

The impacts against the couch stopped. Tentative, Henley looked over it and found the prefab's doorway empty. The noise outside died away. Slowly, painfully, she made her way to the door and looked out. A single, unmarked black shuttle had landed just beyond where the Thresher nest had been, and a lone man in heavy black armor knelt beside one of the dead, scanning him with an omni-tool. As Henley fell out of the prefab, tried to stand again, the man looked up, stared at her for a moment, then let out a short bark of laughter.

"You look like shit," he said. "Still, you're alive. That's… impossible."

She took one tentative step toward him. "Who are you?"

He considered the question for a moment, then rose and walked to meet her. As he drew nearer, she realized his face was familiar. An older man, graying blonde hair cropped close to his head, scarred and wrinkled complexion, blue eyes, an almost permanent scowl. He must have seen recognition in her eyes; he grinned, said, "You tell me."

"Ahern, Tadius," she said. "Admiral." She tried to salute, and fell to her knees.

He made no move to help her up, just nodded his head. "You got that right, kid. And I was never here. And," he added, raising the pistol she hadn't realized was in his hand, "you were KIA. Bang, you're dead. Sorry."

He didn't sound especially sorry, and Henley was about to say so when she realized he _had_ actually pulled the trigger. When he'd turned to approach her. One hand reached up, brushed against her neck, came away with a dart. She stared at him a moment longer, and the world faded.


End file.
